


Petrichor

by casual_fridays



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Childhood Memories, Fluff and Angst, Some of these are a lot sadder than I planned, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_fridays/pseuds/casual_fridays
Summary: The first smell of rain means something different to everyone. Good or bad, it's bound to mean something.Separate instances of experiencing a sudden rainstorm.
Kudos: 2





	1. Hux

**Author's Note:**

> This is really a collection of drabbles centered around how different characters experience rain. Is it something that happened on their planet? Have they ever seen it? What memories does it draw up? Please enjoy!

This planet doesn’t even have a name. It’s just called a random series of numbers. However, the resources are rich, and it will serve as a great asset to the Order. These negotiations are necessary for proper securement and must be done personally. For the Order, Hux reminds himself. The population here is primitive. They regard nature as their god and care for the resources here. However, the First Order must have been a more frightening deity as they gave over command of their planet quite quickly. Now just to survey, set up administrative posts, and designate the individuals to lead resource supervision. All very tedious. Nevertheless, all very necessary.

  
As he steps off the shuttle, he’s greeted by squishy earth and a seemingly seeping dampness. Cold moisture seems to permeate every element of the planet. The air is biting. He feels a tug in his chest. Emotion is only a distraction. He continues to the temporary command base that has been erected outside the native settlement. Shake it off. It doesn’t matter anyway. A cold breeze makes him almost clutch his greatcoat around his chest. Almost.

  
The meeting is as dull as he expected. The men he speaks to have been on this planet for two weeks or more. The cold dampness has sunk into them too. They look gray, too pale, too much like- stop. He won’t note the familiarity. Just decide on the planetside leadership, spit some fantastic and mildly intimidating rhetoric, and get the hell back to the Finalizer’s dry, sanitized halls. Quick and painless.

  
The meeting is finished fairly quickly. The gray men stand respectfully and nod as he exits. He tries to keep a normal appearance as he quickens his pace out of the command center. The shuttle isn’t too far of a walk, but he wants to get it over with as soon as possible. Get off this planet as soon as possible. The moment the doors slide open, he freezes.

  
“It rains often here, sir. Allow me to-“

  
“It’s fine,” Hux spits at the officer. He steps out into the pouring rain.

  
His greatcoat mostly covers him. The rain is quick to bite at his ears, his neck, his face. He ducks down and continues to the shuttle. It’s coming in sheets, and it’s hard to tell where he’s even going. He feels that tug again. Hunched against the wind, he trudges in the general direction of the shuttle. It’s cold. It’s a seeping cold. The kind the goes down to your bones. The kind that’s hard to warm up from. . .

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
“Armitage! Come here, darling.” Clover outstretched her arms to the small boy. His red hair was plastered to his pale face by the rain. His small shoes squelched with every step. “We must get you in some dry clothes. Your father will be home soon.”

  
She holds him close, carrying him through the kitchens. He’s rarely ever down here, but it feels like a treat every time he is. Father never gets to know. There’s always cookies and warmth and no sign of Father’s mean old face that’s too much like his own. No one here will strike him for a minor offense, or berate his every move. Only kind voices and sweet words. Only warmth.

  
He’s carried to the big laundry room. It smells fresh and is even warmer than the kitchen. Baskets of clean laundry sit against the wall. Clover sets him down carefully on the counter and begins to slowly peel his wet clothes off. As she lifts his shirt, she blows a raspberry into his belly. Armitage giggles. She always does that.

  
She goes to a basket of perfectly folded clothes and pulls out nicer clothes than he has even seen her wear. Small. She’s dressing him for dinner. That he has to eat with his father. He shakes his head, tries to forget, little droplets of water fall from his copper strands. Clover grabs a fluffy towel from a shelf behind his head and quickly dries off his hair. She dresses him with the same care as before and gingerly finger combs his hair into place. She kisses his head. “Beautiful boy. Isn’t that more comfortable? How about something to warm us up? Warm milk?” Her eyes are so warm, green and golden. He nods enthusiastically.

  
They walk hand in hand back to the kitchen. He sits down on the floor by the cooking fire as she sets about warming up some milk. She adds some sugar to it, and winks when Armitage notices. He smiles. She brings the mug over to him and sits by his side. He has to use two hands to sip from it. There’s cinnamon in it too. He loves cinnamon. She carefully gathers him into her lap. The warmth of the fire feels good on his fingers and toes. The milk warms him from the inside out. Her arms wrapped tight around him always warms a spot he can’t describe. A spot in his heart he keeps hidden, especially from Father. A special spot for her.

  
“Good and warm, Armitage?”

  
“Yes, Mummy.”  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When he reaches the shuttle, he’s properly drenched. He sits as it lifts off. Half an hour to reach the Finalizer. When he reaches the ship he will have time to change into something dry, get his bearings. Then get back to work.

  
After the shuttle docks, he walks briskly to his quarters, ignoring his officers as they step aside respectfully. He feels water dripping down his neck. He keeps his eyes forward. His shoes are squelching.

  
As soon as he’s in the door of his quarters, he’s ripping off his greatcoat, his tunic. He pulls his boots off with effort. His socks leave wet footprints on the glossy black floor. He quickly pulls a dry uniform from his closet. It’s perfectly pressed. Clean. Cold. He quickly dresses himself, shaking his head to banish the thought. The movement causes more water to drip from his strands. Looking in the refresher mirror, he combs his hair into place. It’s a darker copper than usual. He catches his eyes in his reflection. Cold, green and gray. The tip of his nose and ears are flushed. His normally pale cheeks are slightly rosy. Bags hang under his eyes.

  
He flips through his data pad, checking his schedule. There are about fifteen minutes until he has to be on the bridge. To spout orders, intimidate, and keep this ship running. He sits himself down slowly onto his bed. A moment of rest isn’t a crime. It’s not a weakness. His head hits his pillow without his permission. His arms draw in close, hugging himself. He craves something.

Cinnamon.

Sugar.

Warmth.


	2. Rey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short but very, very sweet. Also, I love Rey so much.

She’s never quite smelled air like this. In fact, she’s never even felt air like this. Yavin IV has more green in one square foot than she has even seen in her entire life. With that comes a dampness, the smell of rich earth, a forgiving sunshine she loves more than any she received on that desert planet. But this is different. The air seems to bear down on her. It feels different in her ears. It smells of soil. No- electricity. Not even that. Water.

She first sees it in the leaves on the trees. They shiver and bounce in a foreign dance. She’s apparently not the first to notice. There’s a bustle of activity as people close cockpits, gather tools, bark quick orders to droids. They’re hurrying inside. Rey doesn’t dare move.   


The first drop hits her scalp. Then her shoulder. Her face. The pace of the drops quicken. Water is sliding down her arms. It’s catching in her eyelashes. It’s cold where it hits. It startles her skin into goosebumps. She doesn’t dare move an inch.  


She hears heavy, familiar footsteps behind her. “Rey! We gotta head in! It may seem like a drizzle now, but the bottom’s gonna drop out soon,” Poe calls. He clutches his tool box, and there are spots of darker orange where raindrops have hit his flight suit. Her eyes are fixed completely on the sky. “You alright, kid?”  


The tempo of the drops is picking up. The sheer volume. It’s filling her ears. The wind picks up and seems to chase after every drop. It chills her wet skin, but she doesn’t feel cold. There’s no groggy dampness to it. She’s never felt so fresh, so alive before in her life.  


She feels a completely unconscious pull at the corners of her mouth. Her arm moves, but it feels like someone else’s entirely. She turns her palm up to catch the drops as they get heavier, and heavier. They’re spilling out of her hand. She brings the other up to cup and catch the increasingly rapid drops. She feels herself grinning like a complete maniac. Her face hurts.  


“It’s raining.” It escapes quietly. Did she even say that? The hum of raindrops against the ground seems like a voice in itself.  


“Yeah, it is,” Poe’s brows are furrowed. They stand in silence for a moment. “Oh. . . It is. It’s raining." Rey finally rips her eyes from the water spilling from her hands and looks to Poe. The rain has soaked his curls to his forehead. He’s blinking the drops out of his eyes. The drops give a gentle ‘tink’ as they hit his tool box.

“It’s raining.” She said that. “Poe, it’s- it’s raining. It’s actually raining.”  
A smile grows on his face. “Yeah, kid.” Realization fills his eyes. This isn’t a typical Yavin IV rainstorm. Rey feels energy building in her chest. Her grin impossibly widens. She feels like she could lift an entire bunker in one wave of her hand. She feels wild. Electric. All of her clothes are sticking to her. She feels her shoes squish. The bottom drops out.

She’s never felt so much water on her skin in her entire life. The sheer volume of the falling water is filling her ears. Poe’s shoulders are near his ears as the cold water hits him and his eyes are squinted in a slight grimace. His smile still grows. The rain roars as it pours, hitting the tarmac and the metal of the x-wings. She roars back.

“It’s raining!” She’s practically screaming with glee. Her arms shoot up in the air. It’s like the joy takes over her body. She’s jumping, whooping, in some sort of primal, joyful dance. Poe joins her, his own flight suit soaked through. 

She wants to catch the water. She wants to gulp it all down. She wants to grab it, to never let go. She wants to grab the clouds and keep them forever. To feel this heavy air, this wind, this water.

She doesn’t ever want the sky to clear up again.


End file.
